Brothers In Arms
by fanboy-anonymous
Summary: Portland, 1998. While John Winchester spends his time tracking down an evil supernatural creature, a teenage Sam and Dean explore their developing romantic feelings for one another. Contains "Wincest". 6 Chapters.
1. Chapter 1

"**BROTHERS IN ARMS"**

**chapter one**

Dean Winchester was raised by his father to do two things: hunt and kill anything supernatural, and look after his little brother.

Ever since their mother's death at the hands of a demon, Sam and Dean's father, John, had become obsessed with tracking down her murderer. Spending much of their lives on the road, the brothers learned to depend only on each other as their father dragged them from state-to-state and town-to-town on hunting trips…

**Portland, Oregon **

**1998**

It was Dean's nineteenth birthday, and his father had checked them into a nicer than usual motel room the night before, to mark the occasion.

Dean woke early, lying on his side and wrapped in warm, soft sheets. He was so comfortable he didn't want to move. It took a few seconds for him to realize that Sam's arm was around him. He turned around to see his fifteen-year-old brother curled up beside him, sleeping soundly, his shaggy brown hair over his eyes.

Sam hadn't been able to spend the night in his own bed for years. He would always wake up in the dead of the night, suddenly and inexplicably terrified, and creep into bed with Dean. He would wrap his arms around his brother and sleep undisturbed for the rest of the night.

Sometimes, things happened between them. Things they would never talk about it in the morning. And Sam would always climb back into his own bed at first light, before their father woke. He knew John would find it strange to discover his sons in bed together now that they were teenagers; especially since he always made sure they had a bed to themselves.

Dean swept the hair away from Sam's eyes and studied his brother's calm, almost angelic face as he slept. He would often take these moments to study Sam carefully - feelings of love and affection, lust and possessiveness, swelling inside of him.

Sam stirred, moaning lightly, and then his eyelids flickered open. He stared back at Dean with his beautiful, olive green eyes, and smiled sleepily. "Morning," he whispered.

"Morning," breathed Dean, inching closer.

"Where's dad?" Sam asked, rubbing his eyes. He knew their father wasn't in the room - there was no snoring.

"I think he went to get breakfast," said Dean, and they both studied each other intently for a few quiet seconds, before Sam shifted closer towards Dean. He moved his head forward and kissed Dean, softly. Dean's lips parted and the tip of Sam's tongue entered his mouth.

Dean slid his fingers around Sam's neck and up through the tangled mess of his brother's hair. Sam reached down and pulled the waistband of Dean's underwear away from his abdomen, slipping his hand inside. Dean's cock was already rock hard when he grasped it, slowly stroking the length of it.

Dean's pulse quickened. He closed his eyes and slid his hand under the sheets, grabbing Sam's crotch and massaging it gently. Their quickened, slightly frenzied breathing filled the quiet room as they went on, their hands moving faster as they pleasured each other.

Just when Dean felt the first waves of orgasm approaching, a key turned in the lock and the door swung open. Sam and Dean froze. Their father came bustling into the room, carrying paper bags full of food and drink. Without looking in the direction of the beds, he rushed towards the table in the far corner of the room to set the bags down.

Sam leapt out of Dean's bed, his heart in his mouth, and stood to face his father as he turned round. John's eyes lit up. "Oh, Sammy," he beamed. "You're up!" Sam stood frozen to the spot, his face pale and his eyes wide. He tried to smile.

John's gaze slipped from his son's awkward expression, down his tall, lanky body, to the noticeable outline of an erection in Sam's jockey shorts. John promptly averted his eyes, appreciating his son's obvious embarrassment. Sam quickly shielded the prominent bulge with his hands.

John turned back to the grocery bags and started to unpack. "Get dressed, and I'll make breakfast," he said over his shoulder.

Sam snatched up his clothes and dashed towards the bathroom.

"Dean, get up!" John called. "We've got a long day ahead of us."

Dean pretended to wake up, rubbing his eyes sleepily. He waited until his hard-on had subsided completely before getting out of bed and pulling on his jeans.

John glanced from Dean to the bathroom door, shaking his head. "You know," he said, "your brother's getting taller every day. Pretty soon he's going to be bigger than you."

"I know," Dean laughed, nervously. He pulled on his t-shirt, sniffing the air, and asked, "What's for breakfast?"


	2. Chapter 2

"**BROTHERS IN ARMS"**

**chapter two**

It had started over a year ago. Dean had always loved his younger brother, of course - been protective over him, tried to keep him from harm, and loved him utterly and unconditionally. Their whole lives, they had had a relationship much like any other brothers, albeit under stranger-than-usual circumstances.

But when Sam turned fourteen, something changed in both of them.

Sam seemed to mature overnight. He kept his innocence, his childlike naivety; but he assumed a detectable air of masculinity, and a strong sexual energy, which Dean could not ignore. Likewise, Sam was finding himself increasingly tempted by Dean, who was fast becoming a more interesting prospect than any of the girls he knew.

Suddenly and inexplicably, the Winchester boys were looking at each other in a whole new light. The wholesome, brotherly love they'd once had for each other was becoming something else - something more intense, and all-consuming.

Something like obsession…

**Miami, Florida**

**1997**

It was two weeks after Sam's fourteenth birthday.

Miami was in the middle of a heat wave, and the cheap hotel room's air conditioning was faulty. All of the windows were wide open, and the street sounds drifted up into the room. Sam and Dean slept on top of the sheets, in their underwear, their skin slick with sweat.

Dean woke during the night and instinctively knew something wasn't right - Sam's arm wasn't around him. He couldn't remember the last time Sam hadn't climbed into bed with him. Was it just because of tonight's uncomfortable humidity?

He raised his head and gazed across at Sam's bed. It was empty.

Dean got up and crept across the room - careful not to wake his father, who was sleeping soundly on the couch - and as he approached the bathroom, he saw that the door was slightly ajar. A quiet, muffled sound was coming from inside - Sam's quickened, irregular breathing, and something like a leaky faucet dripping, rapid and rhythmic. When Dean peered through the crack in the door, his breath caught in his throat.

Sam was standing over the toilet; his feet spread apart, his white briefs pulled down around his knees, and his erect cock in his hand. His eyes were closed as he jerked himself off, fast and hard - the soft, moist sound filling the dark, quiet room.

Dean's heart was thumping. He had never seen Sam like this. He was taken aback by just how masculine, raw and powerful his little brother looked. Sam's dick was big for a fourteen-year-old, bigger than Dean had expected; it was almost as long as Dean's, though not as thick. Most of Sam's body was still smooth and hairless except under his arms, and the thick patch of dark pubic hair on his lower abdomen, surrounding the base of his penis.

Sam started stroking faster, breathing louder as he edged himself closer to climax. When he finally came, he moaned softly, turning his face towards the ceiling. His buttocks clenched, and his stomach muscles contracted, his whole body shuddering.

Dean was surprised by the volume of thick, white semen that came trickling over Sam's fingers and dripped into the toilet. Sam jerked himself one last time, the last of the fluid squirting out of him, until he was completely spent.

He wiped himself off and pulled up his underwear, flushing the toilet. Dean quickly crept back to his bed, sliding under the sheets just as the bathroom door creaked open. There was a slight break in their father's snoring, but he didn't wake up.

Dean lay curled up on his side and clamped his eyes shut. He listened to Sam's footsteps as he tip-toed across the room, and then felt the mattress shift slightly as Sam climbed into bed beside him. Sam slipped under the sheets and settled behind Dean, his arm coming around and resting across Dean's chest.

Dean could hardly breathe. He couldn't hold back any longer.

Reaching up and taking Sam's hand, he gradually slid it down his chest, over his stomach, and into the waistband of his shorts. Sam didn't pull away.

The innocent brotherly relationship they once had was over.

…

**Portland, Oregon**

**1998**

After breakfast came weapons training. John drove to a secluded spot in the middle of the woodlands, on the outskirts of town.

While Dean practiced shooting, hand-to-hand combat and knife fighting, Sam sat under a tree with his nose in a book. Occasionally, he would peer over the top of the book at his father and brother, wondering why he was so different from them.

His heart wasn't intent on revenge. He didn't want to hunt. He didn't want to live out of the trunk of a car, and have no friends, never being able to get close to anyone. He wanted normality. Sometimes, he felt so out of the loop when he was around Dean and his father; they were so alike, he often felt like he wasn't part of their family at all.

He had always been much more like their mother - quiet, tender, loving, thoughtful. If only he had been given more time with her…

"Hey!" John called. Sam's eyes flew up to see his father standing almost fifty feet away, his hands on his hips. Dean stood behind him, doubled over, panting for breath. "Sammy, it's your turn!"

Sam shook his head.

"Sam, come on!" John yelled. Sam knew where this was going - another argument about their duty to the world, and to their mother.

Before things could turn sour, he clamped the book shut, stood up and marched off in the direction of the car.

…

Sam found a library in town, and spent some time wandering through the stacks alone, flicking through books and making note of the ones he would read at a later date.

He only left after the librarian tapped him on the shoulder to let him know it was closing time. When he made it back to the motel, it was almost eleven p.m.

The Impala was missing from the parking lot, which meant their father had gotten a lead on the demon he was tracking and had taken off somewhere. However, a blue light flickered in the window of their motel room, meaning Dean had been left behind.

Opening the door slowly and silently, Sam stepped into the dimly lit room to find Dean lying on the couch, shirtless, watching the TV with the volume down. He had a beer in his hand, and on the coffee table sat another half-empty bottle, and a half-eaten birthday cake.

"Hey," Dean said quietly, without looking up.

Dumping his bag on the bed and walking around the couch, Sam stared down at his older brother, who lay with his chin resting on his chest. The glow from the TV lit up Dean's eyes and shone across his smooth, bare chest and tightly-muscled stomach. His belt buckle and the top button of his jeans were undone.

Sam studied Dean as he took a long swig of beer before finally looking up at him. "Hey, Sammy," he said, his voice almost a whisper. There was something in his gaze that made Sam's stomach tie itself in knots, and he was suddenly very aware of the fact that they were alone.

"Where's dad?" he asked, a little nervously.

Dean licked his lips. "Hunting," he said. "He got a tip from an old friend who's in town." He sighed, running his hand over his stomach, then up through his messy hair.

Sam eyes followed the movement.

"There's a beer for you," Dean smiled, gesturing to the half-empty bottle on the table. "It was dad's, but he had to rush out, so…"

Sam frowned. "Really?" he asked. His father had never allowed him to drink beer before.

"You're fifteen, Sam," Dean laughed, and then his face suddenly turned serious. "You're not a kid anymore…"

Sam nodded. He wondered if Dean could hear his heart pounding; his shirt was trembling against his chest. He knew what he wanted to happen, but did Dean want it, too...?

Summoning all of his courage, Sam took a step forward, and then stopped to gauge Dean's reaction.

His brother swung his legs off the couch and sat up to make room. Sam stepped forward again and sat down on the edge of the seat. Dean shuffled closer and lifted his beer bottle, bringing it to Sam's lips. Sam took a huge gulp of the beer and almost choked. He recoiled, clamping his hand across his mouth, taking his time to swallow.

Dean laughed, setting the bottle down on the table. He turned back to Sam, who was staring back at him intently, his lips glistening with moisture.

"Happy birthday, Dean," he said. Dean smiled, tilting his head slightly, and Sam started leaning in, his eyes fixed on Dean's luscious, full lips…

When the door opened, their heads flew back from each other's. Their father came trudging in, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. Dean's head swung around, and Sam shot up off the couch.

"D-Dad…" he stammered. "You're back."

"Hey boys," John smiled. "What's goin' on?"

"Nothing," Dean shrugged, standing up and buckling his belt. "Want a beer…?"

"Nah," sighed John, slumping into the chair. "I'm beat. I'm gonna go to bed."

"Sammy and I are going out for something to eat. We're kinda hungry," Dean said hurriedly. His eyes darted towards Sam, who started nodding along with the lie. "There's an all-night place around the corner."

"Okay," John said. "Don't be too long."

Dean nodded, gazing at Sam.

They both knew what was going to happen…


	3. Chapter 3

"**BROTHERS IN ARMS"**

**chapter three**

Dean raced the Impala down street after street, the orange glow from each street lamp filling the car for only a fracture of a second before disappearing behind them.

Sam sat in the passenger seat, his fingers clenched around the edges of the seat in anticipation. Dean's knuckles were white from gripping the steering wheel, his heart hammering, his eyes darting from one side of the street to the other.

When finally they had spotted a hotel, Dean slammed on the brakes and haphazardly spun the car into a parking spot. Sam flicked the hair out of his eyes and threw off his seatbelt, opened the car door and clambered out onto the sidewalk.

At the reception, Dean anxiously fumbled with his wallet, trying to get one of the many fake credit cards out. Sam stood a little behind him, nervously biting his lip, his hands in his pockets.

"One room?" the receptionist asked.

"Uh, yeah," Dean said, not looking up at her. He finally got the card out of the wallet and slammed it down on the desk.

The receptionist picked it up. "King or two queens?" she asked, swiping the card.

"King's fine," Dean coughed. The receptionist glanced past him at Sam and raised an eyebrow. Dean glared hard at her, and she smiled, handing back the card.

"Very well, Mr. Alvarez," she said. She picked a key off the wall and gave it to Dean, but she was still looking at Sam. "Third floor, room one-zero-five."

Dean grabbed the key and rushed towards the elevators, Sam following close behind. The receptionist called after them, "Enjoy your stay!"

…

It was the longest elevator ride of their lives.

Sam stood with his back pressed against the wall, biting his lip. Dean stood in the centre of the elevator, tapping his foot nervously.

When the doors finally opened again, Dean grabbed Sam by the wrist and dragged him out onto the third floor. They half-ran down the corridor until they reached room 105, when Dean let go of Sam, pushed the key into the lock and twisted it hard. The door didn't budge, and when he started jiggling the key in the lock, it jammed tight.

"Fuck it," he said through clenched teeth, stepping back and slamming his foot into the door with such force that it cracked open, the door shuddering away from the busted lock.

Dean seized Sam by the collar of his jacket and hauled him inside the dimly-lit room, kicking the door shut again and pushing Sam up against it. A long crack appeared in the wood behind Sam's shoulder, but neither of them took any notice. They didn't care.

Sam slid his hands under Dean's leather jacket, around his waist, and pulled his brother in close until he was almost stepping on Sam's toes, his thigh pressing against Sam's groin. They kissed breathlessly, their mouths pressed hard together, their tongues licking at each other. The light rasping noise of Dean's stubble bristling against Sam's chin was the only sound in the silence of the room.

Pulling Sam away from the door, Dean started to pull off his clothes; first his jacket, then his t-shirt, and then he started unbuckling his belt. Sam kept his hands on Dean's hips, guiding him towards the bed as he stepped backwards, continuing to undress.

When Dean's belt was undone, Sam pushed his brother back onto the bed. Dean fell backwards onto the soft mattress, and lifted himself up on his elbows, staring up at Sam with wet lips and a look of barely-contained anticipation on his face. He lifted his hips off the bed and pushed his jeans down over his hips, his semi-erect cock springing free from its constraints and twitching to life, growing harder and longer.

Sam started to yank off his clothes. When he was completely naked, he climbed onto the bed and slithered forward until his lithe, firm body was on top of Dean's muscular frame, in between his parted thighs.

Dean's skin was warm and soft, and Sam couldn't help but let a gasp of pleasure escape his lips as he gazed down at the hungry expression on Dean's face, propping himself up on the palms of his hands.

Dean slid his hand around Sam's waist, onto his back, then down over the soft yet firm curve of his ass, pulling Sam down onto him. Their bodies collided, their groins pressing together as Sam ran his tongue along his lips, wetting them as he leaned in for another breathless kiss.

Sam rocked gently back and forth, his stiff cock rubbing against the inside of Dean's thigh. Dean slid his hand up the back of Sam's neck. Tangling his fingers in his brother's hair and gently yanking his head back, he kissed and licked the length of Sam's throat.

"Fuck me," he whispered breathlessly in Sam's ear.

Sam was startled. He looked down at Dean, whose eyes were teary and glazed over. Despite what Dean had actually just said, he had spoken quietly, like a child. It had sounded fragile somehow.

It was the first time Dean had shown his vulnerability in Sam's presence, and Dean could see that his little brother was clearly taken aback. But he wanted this. He had been the older brother, the strong one, the dominant one, for so long. Sometimes, he just wanted to lose control, to let go, to be taken over completely.

He stroked Sam's face. "I want you to…" he said. Sam nodded, biting his lip and rocking back on his knees, then standing up off the bed. Dean flipped over onto his stomach, pressing his face into the mattress and spreading his legs apart.

Sam stepped forward tentatively. He kneeled on the edge of the bed, between Dean's parted thighs, and spit in his hand. As Dean raised himself up onto his hands and knees, Sam used the moisture from his saliva to lubricate the length of his dick and guided it forward, slowly and gently entering Dean, inch by inch.

Dean gave a low growl as Sam pushed forward, until the entire length of his dick was inside his brother, and his abdomen was pressed against the flesh of Dean's buttocks. Sam immediately started thrusting - at first slow, deep and long movements, and then shallower and quicker.

"Oh God," Dean sighed, breathing hard, his eyes closed and his forehead creased. Sam put his arm under Dean's body, across his chest, and pulled him up until Dean was on his knees, their bodies pressed close together. Beads of sweat slid down Sam's forehead as he continued to push himself into Dean, moaning loudly. He could feel the point of orgasm approaching fast.

Eventually, he couldn't hold it back any longer and let the tidal wave of intense pleasure wash over him, engulfing his entire body as he groaned noisily. He came inside Dean, both of them writhing gently together.

Sam held Dean close to him, his face pressed against Dean's shoulder, until he was completely spent, and then they fell forward, collapsing onto the bed.

…

"Dean, what are we gonna do?" Sam asked. He lay with his head resting on Dean's chest, their fingers entwined, their limbs tangled in the cool, clean white sheets. The room smelled of salty sweat and sex. Dean had turned on the radio, and Metallica were playing in the background.

Dean sighed, pressing his cheek against the top of Sam's head. "I don't know," he replied. "Carry on as normal, I guess."

Sam frowned. "But… how can we with everything that's been happening lately?"

Dean ran his fingers along Sam's upper arm. "What else are we supposed to do, Sam?" he asked. "March up to dad and tell him that we're sleeping together…? That we're in love…?"

Sam was quiet for a moment before answering. "I don't know," he whispered. "I don't know anything anymore, except… I love you."

Dean chuckled. "Yeah," he sighed. "I love you, too."

Sam exhaled loudly, and Dean felt the warm breath drift across his bare chest. He lifted Sam's chin and looked into his deep, green eyes. "Don't be afraid," he said quietly. "Whatever happens, I'll protect you. It's my job to look out for my geek little brother…"

"Come on," Sam laughed, getting up and lifting his jeans off the floor. "If we don't get back to the motel soon, dad will freak."


	4. Chapter 4

"**BROTHERS IN ARMS"**

**chapter four**

**Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania**

**2001**

Dean woke to the sound of arguing. Before he had even opened his eyes, he knew what was going on.

Sam and John were fighting again.

It had been somewhat of a regular occurrence recently, and things had only gotten worse when, three days ago, Sam had announced that he planned to go to Stanford University.

Needless to say, their father wasn't happy. Neither was Dean, but at least he had been able to suppress his anguish and act like he was happy for his little brother. John, on the other hand, had flown into a rage, and he and Sam had been fighting ever since.

Every time they stood, red-faced, yelling and spitting at each other, Dean sat silently in the corner of the room, watching in quiet horror, his eyes glazed over.

He was still in shock. How was he going to cope without Sam…? Did his little brother hate him that much that he had to get away from him as soon as possible…?

Dean stretched out in the bed, his eyelids flickering open to the sight of the stark white ceiling, and listened as Sam spat, "You can't control me anymore!"

He knew eventually he would have to get up and separate the two of them before they started throwing punches. But he just needed a few more minutes. Just a few precious moments before he had to face Sam again, to look into his eyes and pretend he wasn't crushed at the thought of Sam abandoning him for a new life at Stanford.

"Dean!" Their father barked. "Get up. We're hitting the road."

Dean pretended to wake up, and sat up in the bed, yawning. "What…? Where…?"

"Indiana," he replied, swinging his bag over his shoulder and heading for the door. "Get showered and dressed. I'll wait in the car."

He paused in the doorway and turned back to face Sam. "Are you coming?"

Sam nodded sheepishly. "For now," he said. John closed the door and trudged across the parking lot.

Dean threw aside the sheets, swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. He glanced over his shoulder at Sam, who stood near the door with a sullen look on his face, staring up at Dean from under his shaggy brown hair.

Without saying a word, Dean slipped off his underwear and walked naked to the bathroom. He turned in the doorway and stood facing Sam for a brief moment. Sam swallowed hard, his eyes flashing up and down his brother's body.

Dean kept his eyes on Sam's, and slowly closed the door.

…

On the road to Indiana, there was an air of tension in the car. John kept his eyes on the road ahead, never speaking once.

Dean sat in the front, his head against the window, staring at the fleeting scenery as it whizzed past in a blur. Sam lay in the back, reading a book. Occasionally, he would peer up from behind it and look at the back of Dean's head, wondering what he was thinking and wishing he would speak.

Things hadn't been the same between them for a while, even before Sam's revelation about going to Stanford.

When they had first discovered their true feelings for one another, things had been amazing. Whenever Sam and Dean could steal a few hours, or even minutes, alone together, they would grasp at the chance with both hands. Every time their father would venture out for breakfast, or to meet one of his friends, or go hunting, something happened between them.

Even when John left the room for only a few moments, they would seize the chance for a hasty kiss. Sam would grab Dean by the shirt and haul him in close, kissing him hard and pulling away just before their father appeared in the doorway again, and a surreptitious smile would pass between them.

It had carried on that way for a long time. Sometimes, it happened every night, sometimes once a week, sometimes not for months. But the passion and lust they shared for each other never faded - every kiss, every touch, feeling as new and exciting as the first time.

The emotional side of the relationship, however, wasn't without its hiccups. As they grew up, their differences started to pull them apart.

Dean, like John, lived for the hunt. He was happy to live on the road, living off fake credit cards and money won in poker games, obediently following their father without question.

Sam didn't want to hunt. He wanted to live a normal life, in once place, like a real family. He wanted to have friends, and a job, and a house. He could almost see the gulf widening between him and Dean, and watched as the close relationship they'd once shared disintegrated, bit-by-bit, in front of his eyes.

Of course they still cared for each other, and looked out for each other. But as time went on, their personal differences, and brotherly tension, got in the way.

They argued more often than they ever had before. Being stuck in tiny motel rooms with each other twenty-four-seven didn't help, and neither did their father's controlling attitude.

Finally, Sam had had enough. Stanford felt like the only way out.

Sam peered up from behind his book when the car came to a stop. He looked up to see that they were parked outside a filling station. John turned in his seat, looking at both of his sons in turn.

"You boys want anything to eat?" he asked.

Sam shook his had. Dean mumbled, "No thanks, Dad."

John got out of the car and filled the tank with gas, before marching inside to pay. Sam watched as his father browsed the shelves for food.

"Hey," he said, turning to Dean.

"What?" Dean croaked without lifting his head away from the window. He was drawing little cartoons on the glass in the condensation.

"Are you mad?" Sam asked.

"That depends on who you ask," Dean replied, breathing a soft laugh.

Sam half-smiled, then leaned forward across the back of Dean's chair until he was staring at the back of Dean's head. "I mean are you mad at _me_?" he pleaded.

"No, Sammy," Dean said, without turning around. "I'm not mad at you."

"Then why aren't you talking to me?"

"I'm just tired."

"So you've been tired for what, six months…?"

"I really don't want to fight with you," Dean spoke in a small voice, almost whispering. He sounded sad.

Sam pressed his face against the back of Dean's headrest and closed his eyes. He slid his arm around the chair, along Dean's arm and took his hand. He weaved his fingers through Dean's and locked their hands together, the fist they made resting on Dean's thigh.

They stayed that way, in silence, for a few minutes, until their father opened the car door and slid into the driver's seat. Dean opened his palm and Sam withdrew his hand in one quick, fluid motion, without their father seeing a thing. They had had plenty of practice.

John glanced at Sam in the rear-view mirror. He was slumped in the back seat, his book shielding his face. As he started up the car and pulled away from the filling station, he flicked his eyes towards Dean, who was curled up on his side in the passenger seat, his forehead pressed against the steamed-up window and his hands gripping tight on the seatbelt.

He didn't see the tear streak down his eldest son's face and neck, into the collar of his shirt, and down his chest to take refuge near his broken heart…


	5. Chapter 5

"**BROTHERS IN ARMS"**

**chapter five**

"Don't go," said Dean.

Sam turned to see his brother standing in the doorway with a sullen look on his face. He didn't answer. He turned around and continued packing his clothes into the suitcase.

Dean came up behind him, and Sam felt his brother's warm fingers wrap around his wrist. He dropped the t-shirt he was holding and stood still, tilting his head up towards the ceiling and letting out a quiet sigh. He didn't want to turn around. He couldn't look Dean in the eyes; he knew that if he did, he would never be able to leave.

But he had to go to Stanford. He had to do something good for himself for once.

Sam felt Dean's forehead press against the back of his shoulder, his breath warm against Sam's skin, even through the t-shirt he was wearing.

"I have to go, Dean," Sam choked. He could scarcely talk through the pain. "I can't live like this anymore. I'm not like Dad… And I'm not like you." He felt Dean's fingers relax their grip on his wrist and slide down to his take his hand.

Dean sucked in a long, hard breath. "You're so selfish," he muttered against Sam's back, and then he started to tremble with anger.

"You think you're just going to waltz off to college to live your dream life?" he hissed, lifting his head off Sam's shoulder. "After everything that we've sacrificed to do what we do, you're just going to leave me and Dad in the lurch? How could you do that to us…? How could you do that to _mom_?"

Sam spun on his heels to face Dean, who took an involuntary step backwards when he saw the fury in his little brother's eyes. Sam launched himself forward, pushing Dean with such force that he flew backwards, slamming hard against the wall and then slouching to the floor, clutching the back of his head.

"Do _not_ throw that in my face!" Sam spat, his eyes suddenly wild. Dean's leg flew out, sliding across the floor and swiping Sam's legs out from under him. Sam hit the floor with an almighty crash, landing on his back, legs akimbo like he was trying to make a snow angel.

Dean was on him in no time, throwing his body on top of Sam's and pinning his wrists to the floor. Sam struggled wildly, his face red and distorted with rage, but Dean had the upper hand when it came to brute strength, and he managed to keep him restrained.

Both of them were panting like dogs, trying to catch their breath as they glared at each other from under their furrowed brows.

"I have lost just as much as you," Sam barked through clenched teeth, scowling up at Dean. "I have sacrificed everything to try and live up to Dad's expectations. I've tried my hardest to make him proud, but nothing works. And do you know why…?"

Dean said nothing.

"Because I'm not _you_," Sam concluded, lifting his head slightly, his forehead almost touching Dean's.

Dean lifted his head and raised his eyebrows, peering down at Sam as the angry haze began to dissipate. He relaxed his grip on Sam's wrists.

"What?" he asked quietly. He let go of Sam and sat up, his legs straddling Sam's long torso. Sam wiped his hands across his face, before lifting himself up onto his elbows and gazing up at Dean.

"You've always been Dad's perfect little soldier," he said. "You follow him without question. You obey his every wish and command. You are both so alike - consumed with revenge and hunting, and finding the demon that killed mom. But I'm not like you, Dean. I don't want to live like this."

Dean shook his head. "Sam," he sighed. "Nobody _wants_ to live like this. But we have an obligation to the world, and to mom."

"You sound just like Dad."

"That's because he's right, Sam. We do what we do to protect the world. We kill as many evil sons-of-bitches as we can, to try to make sure that what happened to us when we were kids never happens to anyone else again. If that means giving up a normal life, don't you think that it's worth it?"

Sam's eyes welled with tears. "No," he croaked. "Dean, I can't even _remember _mom. Do you know how painful that is…? I feel like, all my life, I've been fighting a battle for something I never even had in the first place. And that's got to stop."

A few moments of silence passed between them. They were both suddenly very aware of their physical proximity to one another, to the warmth of their bodies pressed together.

Without speaking, Dean swept a stray wisp of hair away from Sam's eyes.

Sam reached up and ran his fingers down Dean's chest, over the buttons of his shirt, down his stomach, before beginning to undo the buckle of his belt.

Dean started unbuttoning his shirt. He shrugged it off and threw it aside, his eyes never leaving Sam's. When Sam had finally unbuckled the belt, Dean reached down and unzipped his jeans, revealing the black jockey shorts underneath.

Sam's fingers curled over the waistband, his fingertips slipping inside and brushing against Dean's pubic hair. Dean leaned down and kissed Sam hard on the lips, his tongue sliding into Sam's mouth, and he moaned lightly.

Suddenly, Dean pulled away, rocking back on his knees and moving further down Sam's long frame. He slid his body in between Sam's legs and got up onto his knees, starting to undo his brother's jeans, his hands shaking with anticipation. Sam pulled his t-shirt over his head and threw it away, leaning up and kissing Dean again.

Dean rocked back on his heels and got to his feet, dragging Sam up with him. He pushed Sam's jeans down past his hips and over his ass. Sam wasn't wearing any underwear. His half-erect cock sprung free, twitching upwards as it grew harder, and he shook off his jeans then kicked off his shoes.

Dean hauled his jeans and underwear down in one motion, stepping out of them and then leaning forward into another kiss. Sam's fingers went to Dean's crotch and wrapped around the warm, soft flesh of his flaccid penis, jerking it softly and slowly. It stiffened in his hand in a matter of seconds. Dean's lips twitched upwards into a smile.

Sam threw the suitcase off the bed and pushed Dean backwards onto the pile of scattered clothes, lying down between Dean's open legs. Their groins met and pressed together, and Sam slid his tongue along his lips, wetting them as he leaned in for another kiss.

The mattress springs squeaked, and the wooden bed frame creaked loudly as their warm bodies writhed against each other, kissing, their legs intertwined, and their cocks rubbing together.

They both came, grunting loudly. The thick, pearly white semen erupted from both of them simultaneously, creating a sticky mess across both of their abdomens as they lay gasping for breath, their bodies pressed hard together.

They stayed that way for a while, half-awake, in a post-orgasmic daze, before cleaning up and getting dressed in silence.

Sam returned to packing the suitcase. Dean buttoned the last button on his shirt and silently made his way out of the room. He paused in the doorway.

"Sam," he said, without turning around. "I'm not going to beg you to stay. But please, just think about what you're doing."

Sam continued packing.

"You know Dad _is_ proud of you, Sam," Dean continued. "And so am I… And I want you to stay, but I won't stop you from going if that's what you really want. Just think about it."

He left, closing the door behind him.

Sam continued to pack in silence, hot tears blurring his vision.


	6. Chapter 6

"**BROTHERS IN ARMS"**

**chapter six**

The next day, Sam was gone.

At 8:23 a.m., Dean woke in the quiet motel room. He was laid out on his front, naked and warm; his arms and legs splayed out, his erection pressed against his abdomen. The sheets were soft against his skin, and the side of his face was sunk into the fluffy pillow.

He yawned, stretching his limbs out in all directions, and blinked away the sleepy haze from his eyes. His gaze rested on a folded piece of white paper pressed into the palm of his hand, his fingers wrapped loosely around it.

His head shot up off the pillow and he sat up, his fingers shaking as he fumbled, trying to unfold the note. His heart started hammering in his chest. A sickly sense of dread threatened to swell up into his throat and make him throw up, and when the paper was finally unfolded, Dean had to stop himself from gagging.

His bottom lip trembled, his brow knitting itself into a deep-set frown. He read the words again and again. Almost half-an-hour passed as he sat still and silent, his vision beginning to blur as he read and re-read it, over and over.

Finally, he turned and collapsed back into the pillows, throwing the sheets up over his head.

The note flew off the mattress, slowly fluttering towards the floor and landing open, underneath the bed. In the middle of the page, written in black ink, in Sam's familiar child-like scrawl, were three words:

_I love you._

…

Dean didn't resurface for the next three days. He pretended to be sick, just to keep his father off his back. It didn't work.

"You don't look sick," said John, standing at the side of the bed, his arms folded across his chest. "A little pale, maybe, but not exactly sick. Maybe you should try getting up, and eating something."

"No, Dad," croaked Dean. "I'm not hungry. Just let me sleep." He rolled over, turning away from John and closing his eyes.

John sighed. "Is this because of Sam?" he asked.

Dean's eyes shot open, but he didn't turn around. "What?" he said. The word came out as barely a whisper, and he cleared his throat. "No, Dad. It's not…"

"Your brother made his choice, Dean. You and I have to continue with our lives, with our duty."

"It's not Sam…"

"Then what is it?" John demanded. He unfolded his arms and let them fall at his sides. "Dean, we were supposed to be in New Mexico yesterday. Pastor Jim is counting on us. We have to leave today."

"Just leave me, dad…" said Dean, his voice cracking and the tears welling up in his eyes. "Go to New Mexico. I'll catch up in a couple of days."

John shook his head. For the first time in a long time, he was scared. Something was wrong with his son, and he didn't know what. As he turned to walk away, his eye caught sight of a small patch of white near his boot - the corner of a piece of paper, sticking out from under the bed.

Kneeling down, he picked up the paper and scanned the words in the middle of the page. He recognized the handwriting straight away, and then when he read the words carefully, his eyes widened. His gaze drifted up from the note and towards the shape of Dean's body, buried under the sheets.

_Now_ it all made sense…

_Now_ he knew everything.

…

Dean slugged back his fifth tequila shot. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and slammed the glass back down on the bar, beside the three empty beer bottles.

He glanced up to find the bartender staring back at him with one eyebrow raised.

"Gimme another one," he murmured, reaching into his jacket pocket for more cash. When the bartender started to pour the tequila, Dean grabbed his wrist. "On second thoughts," he said, slurring his words slightly, "just leave the bottle." He drew his hand back, and then dropped a roll of twenty-dollar notes onto the bar top.

The bartender stared for a moment, and then snatched up the money, shrugging and wandering off.

Dean poured himself another shot, and gulped it back immediately. He sighed, leaning down and resting his head on his arm, his vision slightly blurred as he glanced down at his boots.

"Hi," said a sweet, soft voice at his right side.

Dean looked up into the face of beautiful young woman in her mid-twenties. She had long, tousled auburn hair, and piercing, frosty blue eyes. Her lips were full and glossed pink, and they curled up into a wide smile, revealing a set of perfectly white teeth.

"Hi," she said again, delicately resting her hand on Dean's arm.

Dean's eyes flitted down her frame - studying the curves of her breasts, her slender waist, every inch of her perfectly accentuated by the little black dress she was wearing.

_What the hell?_ He thought. He didn't have to leave for New Mexico until tomorrow - he might as well have some fun before he had to face his father again…

He stared once again into the woman's icy blue eyes, and smiled.

"Hi," he said.

…

Ten minutes later, they were in the alleyway behind the bar, hidden in the dark shadows of a doorway. A huge dumpster obscured them from the view of the parking lot.

Dean's back was pushed hard against the door, which read "FIRE EXIT," his bare buttocks pressed against the cold metal and his jeans around his ankles, his leg spread apart. He had his eyes closed in concentration, his head tilted towards the sky and his face set in a grimace, as the girl knelt in front of him with her lips around his dick.

Dean's belt buckle was scraping against the concrete floor, in time with the rhythm of the girl's head as it bobbed up and down. Her face was knocking into his abdomen as if she was trying to devour him whole.

But something wasn't right.

He wasn't as turned on as he should be. He wasn't enjoying this. He had to concentrate just to stay hard, but it wasn't working - he was already losing his erection.

"Please," he was muttering under his breath. "Please, please, please…"

The girl didn't seem to notice. She peered up at him with hopeful eyes, one hand gripping the base of Dean's cock, the other up the front of his shirt, exploring his muscular chest and stomach.

When she finally noticed he wasn't watching, she took her mouth off his deflating cock and looked up at him.

"Hey," she said softly. She continued jerking him off with one hand, trying to keep him erect; the wet, squelching noise filling the dark alleyway. "What's wrong?"

Dean opened his eyes and peered down at her. "Nothing," he replied, breathlessly. "It's just the tequila, baby…. Keep going."

He held the back of her head and guided her mouth back towards his cock. She licked her lips and went back to work, sucking harder than ever.

_Oh, God, Sam…._ Dean thought. _What have you done to me…? Is this what it's going to be like with women from now on…?_

_Please… Just let me forget. Please, please, please…_

But he couldn't forget. His mind was already conjuring up vivid memories of Sam - images and sounds, recollections of past scents and tastes; the memory of Sam's warm skin against his, of his brother's lips on his own…

_Oh, God, yes… _

_That was it…_

Dean's thoughts had blocked out the sounds around him - the belt buckle whacking against the concrete, the girl's moaning as she sucked harder and faster, the music reverberating from inside the building. He had blocked everything out, and the effect was almost immediate.

His cock throbbed to life, growing bigger and harder in a matter of seconds. He imagined that the warm, wet mouth around it was Sam's - because nobody was better than Sam. Nobody else knew exactly what to do to make Dean quiver; nobody felt better or tasted sweeter.

When it came down to it, nobody else had that same connection with Dean because nobody else was his brother. Nobody else had that same Winchester blood running through their veins…

Before long, the sensation of an impending orgasm was growing in the pit of Dean's stomach. His stomach muscles tightened and his breath came out in sharp, jagged blasts. He tilted his hips up, pushing himself deeper into the girl's mouth and she almost gagged.

He gripped the back of her head, guiding her as the overwhelming pleasure enveloped his entire body, making his skin tingle.

"I'm gonna come!" he growled. His whole body shuddered and he threw his head back, groaning loudly as he ejaculated.

When it was over, the girl got up onto her feet and wiped a thick, white globule of Dean's come away from her lips, smiling. Dean took her hand away from his groin and stroked the last drop out of himself before stuffing his still-hard dick into his underwear and yanking up his jeans.

"Wow," the girl said breathlessly, stepping towards him and sliding her arm around Dean's waist. "I've never seen anyone cream so much in my life. You're a messy boy, aren't you…?" She leaned up to kiss him.

"I guess so," Dean said, side-stepping to avoid her kiss and striding out of the shadows, buckling his belt.

"So," said the girl, flicking her auburn hair out of her eyes and stepping out of the doorway. "What are we doing tonight, handsome?"

"_We_ aren't doing anything, sweetheart," he chuckled.

The girl's face dropped, her lips drawing into a thin, hard line.

"You see," Dean said, stepping towards her and putting his arms around her waist. "I've got to go to New Mexico on some urgent FBI business."

The girl's eyes lit up.

"Can I come with you?" she asked, gazing up at him, wide-eyed. Dean laughed again and kissed her gently on the lips.

"Nah, I'm afraid not, Miss," Dean said. He let go of her waist and took a step backwards, straightening the lapels of his leather jacket. "It's very dangerous, top-secret government stuff."

"Well, can you call me when you're back in town?" she asked hopefully, taking a small scrap of paper out of her purse and scribbling her phone number on it. Dean watched on, mildly amused, and then took the paper, slipping it into his jacket pocket.

"Of course," he smiled, "I had a wonderful time. Goodnight." He winked at her, and then turned on his heels and marched away.

Around the corner, he paused outside an all-night coffee shop. He took the phone number out of his pocket and threw it into the nearest trashcan.

He took a deep breath, drawing the cool night air into his lungs.

"Sam…" he whispered, exhaling and carrying on down the street.

From then on, Dean Winchester pursued women for the occasional night of distraction, rather than a meaningful relationship.

After all, he could never love anyone like he loved Sam, so what would be the point…?


End file.
